The Rose

There was a Rose, for which he sought.
'Gainst all logic, his feelings fought
To show that Rose that he did care.

Past the thorns he chased the bloom,
Knowing well, could be joy or doom.
To gain her love, he took that dare.

"Dearest Rose, you're looking fine.
Though forbidd'n, I'd make you mine,
I want for you what you want best.

When I look, you smile and wink.
With high hopes, it makes me think,
That it is here our hearts both rest."

And so the fool extends his hand,
Careful where his fingers land.
As he reaches, she's to-and-fro.

She pricks his hand and he withdraws.
A drop of blood quickly down'rd falls.
She makes a sign that he should go.

As he leaves, per her desire,
His wounded heart stings with fire.
She calls in his retreat,
------"I'll see you soon."